The Divergent Games
by Renee Belladonna
Summary: What happens when the Faction Island and Panem come into contact? As a sign of truce between the two nations, the people of the Faction Island are forced to choose a district, and the people of Panem are forced to choose a faction. But that's not the end of it- there is also the death match known as the Divergent Games.
1. I: Belladonna Lilies

Thick rays of sunlight gleam through the slightly dusted over glass of my bedroom window. The soft beams of natural heat against my skin should be a soothing gesture of the earth, but today it only reminds of the hour I'll have to face. The day I don't want to wake up from the nightmares. The day my name will be entered in eight times along with other Dauntless teenagers to be picked by the Summit. The day I have a chance against my will to be sent in luxury to my own agonizing death.

I rub my groggy eyes, and then sit up in bed. My family is not rich, nor are we poor. When my little brother Tyson is old enough, we will share the same room. But for now, in his little two year old toddler body, he remains in his crib in my mother's bedroom. This morning he whines, but through our houses thin walls I can hear my mother lulling him back into a calm state. I dress quickly in a black shirt and shorts, the color of Dauntless. In my faction, we value bravery. Which is why most Dauntless don't live a very long life, or they become Factionless. At least, that's how it used to be, when bravery meant going to extreme and drastic measures.

I tie my long, wavy dark brown hair back into a ponytail and put on my baseball cap, adding a touch of dark eyeliner to my waterline and a heavy coat of mascara to my lashes. The typical look of Dauntless teenage girls. After lacing up my old smoke jumper boots that flipped outwards a couple inches above my ankles, I step outside into the hallway, walking down to the living room. I found my mother there, sitting on the sofa feeding Tyson a bottle of formula. She smiles, and I think of how beautiful she looks compared to me. We have the same body structure- tall, lean, and muscular like most Dauntless, only her hair is in curly black ringlets, and her skin is an even tone of olive. I must have inherited my looks from my father, whom I've never met.

I ate a quick breakfast, kissed my mother and Tyson goodbye, and then left out the door with my leather grip metal bat. The bat is so fresh and new, just recently stolen from District 11's sports shed. You see, girls don't have all the same rights as boys do in District 11, even if we're Dauntless. We're not allowed to play sports here. We can't even buy the sports equipment for those games unless we're accompanied by a male who actually plays. That's why I have to steal bats and gloves from the school's sports shed, as does my best and only friend Kelli take her baseballs. She was a mad pitcher, with enough power and speed in her swing for the ball she threw to go through a couple layers of skin, make you bleed, and give you a welt. And that's why I love her.

I walk down the dirt road the way Dauntless normally do, arms swinging at my sides, brows raised, eyes a third of the way closed and a slightly hunched back that made us look like we were scouting out prey. I make my way to the old diamond secluded by woods and wheat fields, where Kelli already stands on the pitcher's mound. She throws her baseball back and forth between her left gloved hand and her right throwing hand. She looks up at me once I make the clinking noise of opening the fence gate that borders the diamond.

"Hey, babe." she greets in a sarcastic voice with a sinister grin across her lips.

"Hey, hun." I replied with the same tone and facial expression. I take to my place at home base, widen my feet to shoulder width apart, lean over just a bit, and grip my bat tightly with both hands, hovering it just above my right shoulder. Kelli and I didn't waste any time when it came to playing baseball- we got right down to it since we knew we only had so much time to play such an exciting sport. I hadn't known about baseball until the Faction Island came to Panem and the factions spread out among the districts. So now, after six years of learning, I'm a hardcore player. Kelli can pitch better than any boy baseball player in the district, probably even in all of Panem. She's like a mad, fierce knife thrower when it comes to hurling that ball.

Well for me, my strength is batting.

The white sphere laced with red came whizzing up into the air, and then straight at me. Upon instinct, I swing my metal bat off my shoulder and through the air like slicing right through a tree with a heavy ax. The ball cracks and the bat clings as the two make strong contact, and the vibrations are distributed through every bone and nerve in my body. A slight shudder goes through my spine, but a good one. The kind you get from just the right hit of adrenaline.

Kelli's baseball repels right back toward her through the atmosphere, and flies about fifty feet over her head, barreling itself into the dirt thirty yards away from the fence that encloses us into the diamond. It takes us a few moments to realize what just happened, but when we do, we turn to each other with grins curled all the way up to our eyes.

"Best damn players all the way to the Summit!" Kelli shouted, and whipped her glove to the ground. I chuck my bat into the dirt and begin to jog to first. With two fists in the air, I holler excitedly as I reach second, and then let my arms go loose as I come around third and then back to home. I haven't hit a home run like that in over a year.

We threw in a couple more hits before it was time to leave. I started walking across the sandy dirt and met Kelli halfway between the pitcher's mound and home base. I knew I'd woken up late so Kelli and I would only have so much time to play, since it's a mile walk from our houses to here. My mind stayed on that wonderful bat. Only I can take a pitch like that. Her throw would have knocked any other baseball player to the ground.

We grip our right hands together and hold them between our chests. People say Kelli and I look a lot alike, only her hair is longer than mine and a lighter shade of brown, as it is less of a mix between curly and wavy. Her eyes are much lighter, such a faded blue that they almost look grey. We have the same pale skin, though. Only, I guess we aren't all that white. For District 11 citizens we are, but compared to people in other districts we have a nice tan going on.

We are the same height, the same weight, and we look it too. Tall, lean, and muscular. Somewhat wide hip bones and long, thin legs with big feet. I look into her eyes, my grin still baring, "That was a hell of a pitch." I say, and then suddenly I remember something important, and my expression grows serious. "How many times?" I ask, and I can see she knows exactly what I mean. She looks down at her shoes, and her other hand goes up to her chest and fumbles over her silver chain necklace that holds half a skeleton skull with cross bones behind it, and the letter F dangling just below it. This is what she does when she's nervous- I've known her for too long.

"Sixteen." she mutters, and refuses to stare back at me. _Sixteen?_ It was so unfair. Kelli lived in a family of seven, and even with all her siblings working and her parents too, she still has to take tesserae, even though she's the youngest at the age of fourteen and this would be only her second Reaping, like me. I only live in a family of three, so my name has been entered eight times. I know that me and Kelli's name would be entered in with thousands of other Dauntless, but still- there are Dauntless out there the same age as us that only have to be entered in twice.

"Well," I say, beginning to change the subject. "We better part ways. Moms probably have something laid out for us and we need to get washed up." I tighten my grip on her hand and let go. My fingers start to caress my own necklace, a replica of hers only it's the left half and instead of having an F below it, it has the letter B. Kelli nods and starts walking towards the gate behind home plate, while I walk opposite of her to the one behind second. We both exit the diamond at the same time, and I jog over to where the ball had landed. After picking it up and dusting it off a bit, Kelli comes around the side of the gate just enough for me to underhand the ball all the way to her. Then, we wave goodbye and walk in separate directions. Her way, through an invisible path in the wheat fields back to her house, and me through the woods that I know like the back of my hand to navigate me all the way back to the gravel roads of the more modern side of District 11.

When I begin to see my house over the hillside, my mother must have sensed me and walked out the screen door to our front porch. As I get closer, I can tell that she's holding Tyson, who must have just fallen asleep in her arms. It's probably a good thing, too, because the last Reaping he went to he bawled the whole time. Last year was my first Reaping, so both of us weren't there to soothe him. My mother and I would be parted once again, and I can only hope that he won't cause another disturbance.

Despite the upcoming events, though, my mother wears a big smile across her cheeks. She leads me inside and to the bathroom. "Get washed up, honey. I've already laid something out for you." she says in her old soul voice. She's only thirty two, but her speech makes you sometimes think you're talking to a wise old lady. I do as she says, entering the bathroom and to find a tub of warm water already drawn for me.

I strip and wash my body immediately, scrubbing all the grime off my skin, the muck out of my fingernails, and the sweat from my hair. When I'm done, I brush my teeth, wash my face, and enter my bedroom in nothing but a towel.

I find a satin brown dress laying on the blankets of my bed, with no sleeves but thick straps instead. It's plain and thick, and lying across from it is a wide black belt. Sometimes I felt odd wearing other colored clothes since Dauntless mostly wear black for reflecting our bravery, but even so, I like it. My mother knows I liked earthy colors like brown, dark olive green, and terra cotta red. After zipping on the dress and wrapping the belt tightly around my waist, I come to find that the dress swayed just down to my knees, and that against my bedroom mirror are black flats. Like any other Dauntless, I can't stand heels.

My mother enters the room and stands behind me in front of the mirror, gesturing for me to sit down while she does my hair. She twists and braids two strands of dark brown waves on either side of my head and ties them in the back, leaving the rest of my hair to flow as it pleases. She reapplies my dark make up as I slip into the flats, and for the first time, I realize that this dress completely reveals my tattoo. My mother and I have matching ones of a belladonna lily on our left upper arm. My mother got hers when she was pregnant with me, when she was seventeen years old.

She told me that when she was a teenager she belonged to a gang of women called the _Belladonna Lilies_, known for their immense beauty and manipulative attractiveness. But if you got too close, their "toxic" would kill you. When I was born, my father couldn't stay for long. Apparently he was an Erudite, the faction that values knowledge, so my mother and he could never be together. But when the Faction Island hit Panem, he promised her that when he got just enough money, he would come and live with us in District 11 as his family had pulled him to District 5. I've always longed to see him.

Tyson has a different father, whom I've never met either. Sometimes I get mad at my mom for that, for going and getting knocked up by guys that won't even help out with the family or the house, but I can never stay mad at her for long. She and Kelli are my best friends.

We walk along with the rest of the crowd to the Town Square, a mix of all the factions. Abnegation, Amity, Candor, Dauntless, and Erudite. Today, we all could be considered equal, as if the division never even existed. We are all dressed in colors that don't resemble our faction. But by the way you walk, talk, and stare, it's easy for me to point out who's from which faction. Amity, who always have that bounce in their step. Abnegation, who walk with their arms straight at their sides, looking nowhere but forward. Erudite, most wearing glasses that they don't even need. Candor, looking bored with their eyes half closed and their arms crossed over their chests.

Once I'm in the line for signing in, my mother kisses my cheek gently while trying to keep Tyson asleep. She heads off into the spectators section, and then after getting my finger pricked and stamped next to my name, I file in along with the other fourteen year old girls. I find the Dauntless and blend in with them, meeting up with Kelli. We do not speak with each other, but we link our arms together and that was just enough to get us through. Once everyone has made their way to the square, a large screen flashes with light against the Justice Building. There, they tell the long and boring story of how the Faction Island came into contact with Panem, and how the Divergent Games were created. Then, the screen switches over to a young man sitting at his desk with the Summit flag hung up just behind him. Sabastian Vaughn, the Head Gamemaker. He's been announcing the tribute names ever since the Divergent Games were created. He greets us with a nonchalant hello, and then gets down to business.

Soon, he has burned through the names of Abnegation, Amity, and Candor. No one from District 11 has been called yet, which I'm feeling pretty good about. After he says two Dauntless male names I do not recognize, his voice perks up.

"Cameron Janson, age 16, District 11." he says, and I immediately know who it is. The best batter of one of District 11's baseball teams, the one I have always wanted to join. We both hate each other. He mounts the stage with pride, as any Dauntless would, though I know he's desperately scared. Sabastian reads another name, a girl from District 4, and then my heart stops, and soon everyone is staring at me.

No, they're staring at Kelli, aren't they? The Dauntless girls have all spread out around us, leaving Kelli and I standing in an open circle surrounded by watching Dauntless, with only one path that leads up to the stage. I turn my head and look over at her, but she's already staring back at me. Her lips are slightly opened, and I can tell her big eyes are about to spill. But I know she's holding it back, because crying shows cowardice to most teenagers of Dauntless, while adults will disagree. I glare down at our crossed together arms, and then at her necklace. We're supposed to be together. Always. That's what the necklaces symbolized when we got them. That no matter if we were in a fight or we were depressed or people were holding us away from each other, we were always whole. Now I know that we are going to be separated. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the screen flash off. Officials are searching the grounds to find whoever was called, and a few of their eyes fall on Kelli and me.

"You-" Kelli chokes out through the lump in her throat. "You better get up there, Renee Belladonna." and I can't tell if she's trying to be a little hopeful by saying my full name, or if she's just repeating what Sabastian had said. I nod, and slowly, I start to walk toward the stage.

Two tributes from one district is normal. But two tributes from the same faction as well as district has never happened before.

Me and Kelli's intertwined arms began to turn into us holding hands, and then I have walked just far enough away from her that we are no longer touching. I make my way up to the stage escorted by Officials, and as I stand there watching everyone from high grounds, my vision begins to blur together. I hear a baby crying over the silence, and I know it's Tyson. I start to get dizzy, and then the next thing I know, my head has banged against the wooden floor boards of the stage and I can't see anymore.

**End**

**Chapter One**

**The Divergent Games**

_This story is also on Wattpad._


	2. II: Obscene Realizations

My lashes flutter open to the sight of white light reflecting off my pale, trembling fingers. After a few seconds, I'm greeted by the aching memory of the last time I was conscious. I fainted. _I fainted!_ In front of all of District 11, in front of my fellow Dauntless. But what's even worse, it had been on live television. Everyone in the districts, the Summit, and the Capitol saw my flunk. What a repulsive act of sheer cowardice! Even if I make it back home alive, which is very unlikely, I will be rejected by all the Dauntless in District 11. Not Kelli or my mother, but everyone else will force me into years of humiliation.

But the remembrance doesn't tag me for long. No, only for a few seconds, probably a minute before I realize I am not alone in my bedroom quarters on the train. A man sits at the end of my bed, smiling down at me as my vision plays into focus. His hair is sand colored and shaggy, shaping his jaw to the fullest potential. His skin is a perfect shade of olive, like my mother's, only my mother's features are rough like any Dauntless aged twenty to thirty years old. He's smooth, I can tell just by looking at him. His face is utterly flawless, free of acne, scars, and freckles. His eyes are a bright hazel, and as he grins down at me with gleaming white teeth, he puts a long, rugged hand on my own that notifies me he does a lot of work with them.

"I know you," I say in a tired, early morning voice. "You're Blake Travetts, from Amity."

"And the victor from three years ago, yes, that's me." he smiles even wider. I definitely remember him. Winner of the third year of the Divergent Games, the first tribute from District 11 to go into the Games and come back alive. It's difficult for me to contemplate how someone from Amity could become Divergent, the faction that values peace. Yet he did, but I cannot remember exactly how he won. All that comes to mind was that he was really skilled with theft.

"You better get ready, we're only two hours away from the Summit." he stands and walks over to the door as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Just when he's about to leave, he turns back to me and grins. "Try not to faint again when your cosmetologists get a hold of you." he teases, and then disappears down the hallway. A remark like that should made me irritated, but because it's so early in the morning and I'm going to die soon anyway, it lightens me a bit. I try to hold in my smile, but I know Blake had already seen it before he left.

I take a warm shower, and after seeing Blake's gleaming white smile, well, let's just say I brush my teeth way longer than two minutes. After pulling on a long sleeve, cotton black shirt and dark shorts, I tie my hair back the way I always do, and apply my usual Dauntless makeup. I walk out of my quarters barefoot, and after getting lost several times, I finally found the dining cart.

Long tables and stands hold several varieties of decorative cakes, cupcakes, muffins, strudels, and other pastries I can't even name. Plates upon plates support exquisite chops and roasts of meat and every type of egg is available and cooked whatever way you can think of. Silver jugs of wine, cider, brandy, milk, and juice have been set out, but the thing that utterly ruins this amazing display of meat, fruit, vegetables, and desserts is the sight of Cameron Janson already eating at the dining table.

I try not to make eye contact with him as I fill up my plate with eggs, bacon, a muffin, and fresh toast, with a metallic glass of cider in the other hand. When I sit down to eat, I make sure I'm as far away from him as possible. As I look out the window, I see trees and deserts and mountains passing along. I know I'm on the train to the Summit, but I can barely feel the thing moving. I keep my head down as I eat, remembering how my family could not afford food as tasty as this. Sure, we bought eggs and sometimes meat from the butcher, but that food wasn't even half as fresh and good as this. It was like these eggs had just been laid by the chickens, scrubbed and polished and then cooked on an ultra-deluxe cooking stove while the meat had just been sliced off and kneaded down before put on a fancy Summit grill to sizzle. I know that all the poultry and livestock comes from District 10, but this is nothing like how the food looked when I imagined it.

I finish eating everything but my muffin when Cameron speaks up. "So, Renee." he starts, and I try to ignore him. "What are you trying to do?" I glance up as he leans on the table towards me. His eyebrows are raised like he really expects me to understand what he's asking.

"What are you talking about?" I ask after gulping down a sip of cider.

"The whole collapsing thing. I know it was fake. No Dauntless faints- ever." he pulls back away from the table and lays himself back on the spines of the chair he sits in, crossing his arms.

"Then I guess I've set a new record." I retort in a nonchalant voice, since I really don't want to deal with him right now. He's taller than me, with broad shoulders and muscles twice as big as mine when he flexes. His hair is shaggy and black, and his eyes are an intimidating green. He's tan like most Caucasian citizens of District 11, and I guess he could be handsome if I didn't hate him so much. I know I can bat better than him. I can. But our size difference told otherwise.

"Then you're a coward." he snorts, "And you won't make it ten minutes in these Games." he slyly averts his gaze to the window, like he's won this argument. Well, me being a hot headed person, my short temper gets the best of me. I plant my hands on the table hard and stand up, pushing my chair a few feet back away from me. I grab the sharpest knife I can find from my silverware set, hold it up in the air, and point the tip at him.

"They're already sending me to my death, as they are yours. Neither of us are going to get out alive, so I have no problem with severely injuring you now." I say it in just a loud enough voice to be threatening, but also low enough to state that I am not going to be the first one to lose my nerves and start yelling like any unstable Dauntless would. Cameron stands also, picking up an even longer knife, and points it straight back at me.

"You think I can't do this?" he says, his voice shaking from anger. "When that gong rings, you're going to be the first one I kill!" he's shouting now, and no matter how long he keeps this up, deep in his mind he'll know that I've already won our dispute. "You damn Dauntless poser, when I get my hands on you-"

Just then, the doors to the dining cart slide open and Blake steps in. Cameron turns around to see him, immediately lowering his knife, but slowly. He already knew Blake had been watching us, as did I, but I didn't care. "Let's put the knives down, now. Save that for training when you actually have to prove your strength to somebody." Blake states, and then fills up his own platter. Cameron, I guess he was just extremely furious with me, hurls his knife at the wall and it embeds itself into the paneling. He storms out, and before the dining cart doors can close on him, he flips me the bird- and instead of sending the gesture right back, I mouth the words he meant to me, to him.

Luckily Blake didn't see that, because he would probably go off on some peace and earth loving lecture to the both of us. I reluctantly sit back down in my chair, but I keep my knife clutched in my hand, just in case Cameron decides to make a reappearance. Blake makes his way back to the table, and sees the knife in the wall. Fortunately, all he does is sigh and sit down.

"Those are the Career type." Blake says, stuffing a forkful of eggs in his mouth. After he chews and swallows, he speaks again. "The ones that can't control their emotions. But most Careers eventually go insane with the power they believe they possess whether they win or lose, and neither way ends well." he's talking about both of us, Cameron and I. I may not have lost my cool first, but I was close to it. Plus, I was the one to start the knife fight.

"That's the kind of thing I would expect an Amity to say. But Cameron and I are Dauntless. It's in our nature to get angry." I don't look up from my glass of cider, but I know Blake stares at me.

"It's in a Dauntless' nature to be brave. You should not have done that. It was not wise to have already created an enemy for yourself, Renee." I stare at him for a moment.

"We already hated each other. Us going into the Divergent Games together wouldn't have changed that, and neither is some peace harboring hippie from Amity." and with that, I stand from the table and stomp out of the dining cart with a scowl imprinted across my cheeks. I don't know where I'm going, but eventually I find a living room and I end up sitting on a couch that faces a wide and long window on the train. Miles and miles of trees are rushing by, and just the sight of them reminds me of home. Especially of the woods I would pass through to get to the diamond Kelli and I played baseball in. The thought makes me ache, and I start to crave the touch and feel of my metal bat. It already feels like it's been years since I've last seen it, last played with it. But then the green of the forests loses touch with the train window and is replaced by a gleaming blue city, which can be no other place other than the Summit.

I swallow the anxious lump in my throat and stand. I leave the window and the living room and somehow I make my way back to my bedroom quarters on the train. I slip on shoes that look like the ones I used to wear back home that would flip outwards at my ankle, still wearing my half skull necklace, and start walking back to the dining cart. Thankfully, Blake is no longer here. He must have gone back to his room as well to freshen up. After walking through the dining cart, I make my way to a new room that looks like an entry way for the richer citizens of District 11, only five times as fancy. For a few minutes I just stand there at the window, watching the city go by. And then the room becomes dark, and I realize we are going through a tunnel.

When the light beams again, I have to squint, what with all the moving colors in front of my eyes. I hear Cameron and Blake enter the room, and we all watch, stunned, as thousands of Summit citizens cheer for their latest tributes. Well, maybe not Blake. He's obviously seen this kind of thing before, three times now. The train becomes dark again as we slow into a halt, and I guess we must have arrived at the station that connected to the Remake Center. Almost immediately, Officials hustle into the entry way of the train and escort Blake, Cameron, and I all out. We split up with two guards behind each of us, and I'm sent into a cold, metallic room.

There's a wide bench-table thing on one side at the far end of the room, and a giant tub on the other. There isn't much equipment in here, but on the wall between the tub and the bench, a silky black robe has been hung up. When I approach, I find that above it, a little screen keeps blinking the words, "Strip down and redress in the provided clothing. Your cosmetologists will be with you shortly". So I do as the screen says, since I know I'm going to find myself naked in front of glazed strangers anyway, whether I do what I'm told or not. After sliding on the black robe, I sit on the cold metal table, and study the walls until three odd looking people enter the room.

They're all from Amity, that's obvious. But Amity from the Summit always like good entertainment, even if it means watching the death of twenty three teenagers on live television. They're still all about peace, and I guess that if the Divergent Games were messed with, a war would explode and the Amity would be able to do nothing about it but watch. Suddenly, I'm surprised by my own thoughts. Why am I thinking like an Amity?

It's three girls, all dressed in several different shades of reds and yellows. One wears a long red dress embroidered with yellow gems that remind me of fire. Her fingers are gloved with yellow latex, which all of the girls have, and none of them look happy about. The girl has coppery brown hair that blazes and flows radically, so she looks like a ridiculous sun goddess. Another girl wears a strapless top that comes down to her knees in silky waves, and red pants that sway with every movement she makes. She has platinum blonde hair and yellowish skin that makes me think she's sick, but then I realize it's just another crazy Summit fashion. The last girl seems almost normal. Her dress is a bunch of different reds and yellows and it goes down to a few inches above her ankles, her hair hanging down straight and black over her shoulders with a few feathers in the strands here and there.

"Whoa!" the middle girl exclaims. Just from her remark I can tell she isn't the brightest one of the group. She rushes over to me and leans in front of me, which makes me feel really uncomfortable. "Look at those lips! I didn't know District 11 had plastic surgeons this good!" she puts up a tentative finger to touch my face, but I smack it away and turn my head towards the other girls.

"My lips are real, okay?" I scowl, and try to push her away from me without touching her. "Now back off, you're making me feel claustrophobic." she backs away, but she looks insulted. The other two girls approach, but they're careful to keep their distance. I sigh. "Look, can we just get this over with? I'm in a bad mood." they all look at me sympathetically, and then smile.

"Of course. We'll try to make it as painless as possible." the girl with black hair states, which sends a shudder through my body. What are they going to do that will give me pain? "My name is Aumora. This is Belinda," she points to the girl with coppery brown hair beside her who has yet to speak up. "and this is Ralenia." she gestures to the girl with yellow skin, and Aumora's eyebrows raise like she already knows my opinion of Ralenia, and agrees with me that she is, in fact, very dimwitted.

And that's when they tell me to lie down, and give me the most horrible pain I've ever felt probably in my entire life, and I still have yet to go into the Divergent Games.

**End**

**Chapter Two**

**The Divergent Games**


	3. III: Wheat Field

I've been pulled at in all directions.

Ripped, torn, soaked, plucked, and brushed, my cosmetologists work on me from head to toe. My dark brown waves of hair have been combed out to silky perfection. My skin has been ridden of all body hair, oiled, and scrubbed after a painful waxing. My fingernails and toenails have been polished and shaped, while my teeth were brushed so hard they're even whiter than Blake's. They thinned my thick brows and applied cleanser to my face and body that burned at first, but then had a cooling sensation. I could feel all the acne, scars, and unsightly freckles disintegrating away. When I look at myself in the mirror, I'm still me, but not really.

Yes, anyone would be able to recognize me as Renee Belladonna. But not without a gasp. I look naturally beautiful, an extremely large change from my old appearance. Just looking in the reflective glass reminds me of my mother. And then I wish to look how I used to again.

After they apply lotion to my skin, they leave me in the black robe, sitting on the side wall of the metallic tub. Ralenia gives me an oblivious smile and wave as she leaves, like she doesn't know what I think of her. Belinda just keeps her head down as she walks out. Aumora gives me a pitiful shaking of her head, like she's trying to apologize for her apprentices' silent and stupid behaviors. And then I'm left alone in the cold room for about ten minutes.

Just then, another woman pops through the doors of the room. She has light brown skin, gleaming blue eyes and auburn hair that sticks up in crazy spikes and curls. She's tall- well, at least she appears to be tall in her ten inch heels, and she wears a strange looking black and white dress- she must be from Candor. Her eyelashes are at least three inches long and her lips are painted yellow, while she has white eyeliner on her bottom waterline. I know the Summit has ridiculous fashions, but are they all this terrible?

"Oh darling, I loved it how you just fell on that stage! Give the fans something to finally root for, why don't you?" she smiles and clicks her way over to me. She flaps her eyelashes and takes in a huge breath before speaking again. "I mean, getting the sympathy vote! I never thought it was possible for someone from Dauntless!"

"My faint was real, alright? And I don't want sympathy from people like you. I'd rather citizens from the Summit and the Capitol to just not pay attention to me. It would be better for them to just forget about the girl from District 11 since I'm not coming home anyway." I start with a raised voice, but then I mumble the rest of the sentences without making eye contact.

"Whatever you say, honey. So, any guesses on your costume?" she asks brightly, like she actually expects me to be enthusiastic about the Opening Ceremonies, where all the tributes for the Divergent Games have to dress in something that represents their faction as well as their district. The stylist designs it, and I'm guessing that this woman must be the designer for all the tributes from District 11. I can only imagine what she plans to do with Cameron and me- make us giant black tomatoes?

"No." I respond, hoping that we can just get this over with.

"Well!" she carries on, and I can tell by her tone she's a bit offended. "Tonight you and Cameron are going to look radiant! But dark as well. Yes, very dark, but you'll flow with the wind on your faces. Oh you, the spectators, the Gamemakers, and the president are just going to love it!"

"That's great." I respond in a very unenthusiastic way. "What's your name, anyway? I should know the person who's going to make me look like a fool in front of all the Dauntless."

Despite my remark, she gives her name in a joyful voice. "I am Dalia Alfresco, Candor, and I am District 11's first amazing and remarkable stylist! Now, get rid of that grumpy attitude. I want you to look fiercely proud of my magnificent works tonight!"

When Dalia meant flow, I didn't know she meant this.

I look... Well, let's just say I actually like the costume my stylist dressed me in. My hair is tied and sprayed back in a voluminous ponytail, straightened so that it looked black instead of dark brown. My lashes are a whole inch longer, and I have heavy dark liner and shadow that makes my eyes look like individual crow wings. My skin is coated in a pale makeup, which isn't all that different since I'm not very tan, anyway. My full lips are painted a deep red, and since I already have six piercings in each of my ears, Dalia inserts new earrings to go with my outfit. My favorite part is that my tattoo is completely exposed.

Dalia dresses me in a long dress that goes all the way down to my feet. Only it isn't a dress, it's a wheat field. Starting at the top of my chest, black stalks of wheat begin and grow longer and longer as they reach the end of the dress. On my arms are sleeves that start at the middle of my upper arm, and stop at my wrists. The sleeves are puffy and black, grey, and white plaid, so if I put my hands on my stomach, I look like a farmer getting ready to harvest the first growth of wheat. Dalia applies fake black nails to my fingers, and gives me no shoes to wear- thank god- but wraps a silver chain that holds several different gems on each foot around my ankles and toes. She says it would look more natural if I don't wear shoes, but that I shouldn't be completely barefoot all together. As I stare at myself in the mirror, I do not see myself, but a young teenaged girl who is as dark as night and as intimidating as a wolf. My mother would be proud, and Kelli would have her jaw dropped in awe.

With every movement I make, I look like a wheat field waving in the wind. Dalia gently places her hands on my shoulders as we look in the mirror. "We'll never pull off anything as great as 'The Girl on Fire', but I believe this costume will fall in second place." she says in a low tone. For the first time, I actually smile. I believe it too.

We make our way down to the chariots, where all the tributes have already mounted their rides except for Cameron and myself, who I meet as soon as I exit the cold metallic room. He's wearing the same thing as myself, only a full body suit instead of a dress. His feet are bare like mine, but accessorized with silver chains and black gems. He lacks as much make up as me, but his eyes are still lined darkly and it seems as though his cosmetologists have burned away every freckle or mole he may have had here and there.

"I look ridiculous." he whispers to me as we're approaching the Dauntless chariot. "They know how to dress a girl, not a guy. Especially when that guy's from Dauntless." it takes me a few moments to realize that this is his form of apologizing for earlier. But why would Cameron apologize? We both hate each other with a burning passion.

I don't respond, I just hop in the Dauntless chariot before Cameron. They start riding out alphabetically, so Abnegation will go first, then Amity and Candor, then us, and finally the Erudite. This year, there are three male tributes and two female tributes in Dauntless. I look to my side and see the girl from District 4 standing next to me. She's shorter than I, with long black hair and tanned skin with squinted hazel eyes, but there's no doubt that we're close in age. She wears a black dress carved and imprinted with dark shells, fish, and seaweed. The dress is thin and silky, ending at her ankles with thick straps on her shoulders. Just then, our chariot lurches forward. She catches me staring at her outfit, but who wouldn't? Her dress is similar to mine in the way that it moves. The speed of the horses that draw our chariot creates a type of wind against our bodies, and as her dress moves, it looks like a rippling black lake. She gives me a tough look, so I turn forward quickly as our chariot finally leaves the Remake Center and blinding lights flash against my body.

The horses pull us into an open air, small stadium. There are stands of people on each side of the wide dirt path that the horses draw forth the chariots on. In their elevated seats, they scream and cry and laugh hysterically, all at the same time as the Dauntless chariot proves to be the most extravagant for this year's Opening Ceremonies. I catch a glimpse at the five of us on one of the banner screens, and I see what they shout for.

Next to the short girl from District 4 stand two tall and muscular gentlemen, probably about the same age as Cameron. I see that one is from District 12 while the other from District 3. Every tribute from Dauntless this year flashes with beaming amazement. Even though our costumes may not look as fierce as the Summit thinks they do, our facial expressions make up for it. None of us smile- The girl from District 4 crosses her arms over her chest, and as if upon command, so do the two guys from 12 and 3. What is she to them, their leader or something? I roll my eyes and force myself to look forward, staring with a hardened expression at the Candor chariot about ten yards in front of us. I know the crowd wants to see us smile, but they don't deserve it. They don't deserve to see any of us happy about riding to our own death in style.

As the chariot finally slows into a halt in front of the Training Center, where all of us will be staying for the next three days to ready ourselves physically and mentally for the Games, a banner drops in front of the building and flashes with light. Our president, Abram Hail, appears on the electronic banner. He's a bit shorter than average, with tanned skin and jet black hair. He's only forty four, but with six years of stress from the Divergent Games and keeping our whole nation under control, he looks twenty years older. There are crows feet stretching far out from his eyes, wrinkles going down from his nostrils to his chin, naturally furrowed brows and scruffy hair. He doesn't seem to like maintaining his image- I guess he doesn't care what people think of him. I wouldn't either.

Even though this broadcast is coming from the far away Capitol, he still seems to look down at us individually like he's actually here. After his eyes fall upon me, he grins, and looks back forward. "We have an exquisite batch of tributes this year! I just know this is going to be a wonderful Divergent Games." he says enthusiastically, a little bit too enthusiastically for me. Just from his tone I can tell he's faking his happiness like most of the tributes here, and I wonder if the Candor sense it too. Probably. He straightens out his grey suit upon instinct, as if that gesture comes natural to him. "I wish you all good luck in this year's Divergent Games. May the odds be ever in your simulation's favor!" and with that final statement, the crowd goes wild and the banner clicks away from him and to our nation's flag. What are they all cheering about? He says practically the same thing every year, and the audience just eats it all up. And what for? If you ask the people back in District 11, they all think that having a man from Abnegation as our president is ridiculous. Why would someone, whose faction values selflessness, allow such a bloody event to occur in the first place? I know there's got to be logic and reason for it somewhere, but I just don't understand. It seems highly hypocritical to me.

The mentors and stylists exit the Training Center to come meet everyone at their chariots. We all step off the Dauntless chariot one by one, and Blake and Dalia met up with Cameron and I. It might just be me, but she seems to bite her lip at stare at him when he isn't looking her way. A Summit girl has a crush on an Amity guy from District 11? How strange. I can't help but roll my eyes at the two of them.

"You two looked amazing out there. Ab-so-lute-ly stunning!" Dalia exclaims, giving Cameron and I individual hugs against our will. I look at Cameron with a "what the hell just happened" look, but he just shakes his head. It's hard not to smirk at that.

"And that's coming from a Candor," Blake said with a calm smile. "You really did look good out there. I think we'll have a lot of sponsors coming our way." even for our actions of earlier today, Blake approaches Cameron and me, gets between us, and put his arms around our shoulders. I can't help the slight blush that emerges on my cheeks as he does this, and I tilt my head back so that I can see Cameron. I raise an eyebrow questioningly at him, but he just shrugs. Blake leads us toward the entry doors of the Training Center, and just before we go inside, I sneak in one last glance at the Dauntless girl from District 4. To my surprise, she's already looking back at me. And is that... Envy written on her face? No, it can't be. She's probably just scowling at me for staring at her earlier. I would be too.

While walking to the elevator, I look down at my bare feet as they step across the cold, marble floor. By the time we get there, Dalia and Cameron are the only people in our group who are able to enter, because the elevator is already crowded with a lot of other tributes, stylists, and mentors. Once they leave, another one comes down for Blake and me, us being the only ones left in the lounge area.

As we ride upwards slowly, I feel a little awkward being alone with him. Of course the elevators are see through with glass walls, and there's most likely a security camera in here as well, but his company still feels... Unnatural.

"I wasn't lying back there." Blake finally says. "About you or Cameron. I'm proud to be you guys' mentor." I don't look up at him, but I can tell he was smiling at me. After a few moments, he adds, "It's not illegal to speak here, you know."

"I don't have to talk if I don't want to." I retort, finally looking up at him. He stares at me blankly, while I can't resist sending a few daggers at him with my eyes. "It's not like I'm on my way to a game of death or anything."

He opens his mouth to respond when the doors of the elevator slide open and we find Dalia and Cameron standing there waiting for us. Cameron couldn't look more upset that he was here, and I'm not talking about in a sad or scared way, but in a distasteful way. Like he can't believe he actually has to stay in a building designed by people who are going to play with our minds in three days.

We walk to our floor in complete silence, no one making a sound except for our feet on the hard wood floor. The doors to our loft are wide and elegant, and when they open, it takes my breath away.

First there's the sitting room, decorated with brightly colored sofas and armchairs. There's a fireplace against the center wall, burning with real flames, and a glass table just a few feet away from it. There are about four steps you have to walk up to get to the dining area and another sitting room, but with the whole place open and inviting, it makes it all the more better. After I'm escorted to my room, I immediately get in the shower and scrub all the makeup off my face and body. I had thrown the dress I was wearing on my bed beforehand, along with the silver chains that had been wrapped around my feet. It takes me an hour just to rinse all the hair spray out and wash the now mess of makeup off my skin. Then it takes another hour for me to try and figure out which buttons to press on the shower panel just to wash my hair and body.

By the time I step out, I'm feeling pretty defeated. And by what? A shower. I'm even more pathetic now that I'm in the Summit. I accidentally slam the palm of my hand into another panel on the sink, and hot air immediately blows out onto me, practically knocking me off my good balance. Even though it has separated every strand of my hair so that it floated lightly back onto my shoulders in silky, wavy thickness, I still want to punch the damn mirror. Yeah, that's healthy- wanting to beat up an inanimate object.

After stepping out of the bathroom completely bathed and brushed, feeling miserably angry, I throw on whatever I can find in the dresser of my bedroom. My mood increased a little when I finally find a simple black, flowing T-shirt and grey shorts. After leaving my bedroom, I find that almost everyone is already sitting at the dining table and a large meal has already been set. No one waits for me to get there, they're all just digging in. And look who else is here- Aumora, Ralenia, and Belinda, my three cosmetologists from Amity. The three of them sit around Blake, obviously adoring the fact that he's from the same faction. I snort a bit in amusement, and take a seat across from Cameron. Almost as soon as I sit down, a group of Avoxes swarm me with a platter of the first course of our meal, silverware, a glass of water, and another of cider. My mouth starts to salivate at the sight of fresh chicken breast, coated thickly in a rich orange sauce, topped with garnish, and on the sides are carnation petals and nettles. I remember harvesting both several months ago.

By the time I'm done eating the salted nettles and chicken, I'm almost full. The Avoxes come back around to refill everyone's glass, and then bring out dessert. I recognize the wide cake covered in strawberries as pavlova, such an expensive bakery dish that we could never afford back home. I've always wanted to try it. I put my elbow on the table and rest my head on my fist, taking each individual carnation petal and placing it delicately on the cake. By the time I look up from my plate, everyone seems to be staring at me.

"What?" I ask, bringing my head off my palm.

"You put flower petals on your food?" Ralenia asks in her naturally oblivious tone of voice. When my eyes finally fall upon Cameron, I realize he's only looking at me because everyone else is, like he's trying to figure out what they saw wrong with me.

"Doesn't everybody?" I question curiously, staring down at the cake. "At home, we could never afford both at the same time. So when there were celebrations, everyone would take the flowers and pluck them of their petals, placing them on their desserts before eating. I thought every district did that." I say bluntly and ignorantly.

"I guess I've floated away from our district's customs." Blake sighs, only it doesn't seem like he's trying to make fun of me, but instead he's disappointed in himself for not knowing that. I turn back to Cameron.

"Maybe it's just a thing the Summit doesn't do." Cameron shrugs. I know it's a small choice of words, but I'm thankful for him chiming in on my part. I look back to my three cosmetologists of Amity, and notice Ralenia vigorously placing each one of her carnation petals on her plate of pavlova. Aumora and Belinda still look at me funny. Aumora shakes her head and looks back at her food confusedly, and then finally begins to add petals to her dish as well. Belinda simply continues to give me puzzled looks until I turn my head back to my plate and begin to scoop up tiny bits of my dessert and place the sweetness in between my lips.

After pulling on a white night gown, I lay in my bed. It was the most comfortable thing I had ever have the pleasure of lying in, and I enjoy every second of it. Soon, after lying there for a couple hours staring at the ceiling, I drift off into a dreamless sleep, and once again, I dread the day ahead of me.

**End**

**Chapter Three**

**The Divergent Games**


	4. IV: Faction Training

"As you all know, we have three days of training before the Divergent Games begin. Two days of physical training, and the last day for mental. During training, you are not permitted to engage the other tributes in battle. We have workers here who may spar with you." I listen to the first few sentences, but then I pretty much zone out as I gaze at all twenty four other tributes. Three females and two males from Abnegation, four females and one male from Amity, three males and two females from Candor, three males and two females from Dauntless, and four males and one female from Erudite. So thirteen guys and twelve girls. Fair enough, I don't think we've ever had a number that even before.

Before I know it, the woman that has gathered us all around in a circle in the Training Hall has waved her hands dismissively. I instantly think of weapons I can train with, me being a baseball player. I glance over to find Cameron doing the same thing. He catches my look, so I turn away and walk over to the nearest weapon range to me, which right now is the Swords Station. I glance from side to side, only to find that I'm the only one here. The trainer seems happy to have me, even though he shows his happiness with cockiness.

"Ah, a Dauntless tribute. Not the first time I've seen Dauntless at my station." he says, giving me a smug look, and I shoot him a glare. "Most of the time they have huge egos and that doesn't get them anywhere at _my_ station." at this, I immediately grab a sword off the rack and swing it at him, holding the tip to his neck. He seems a bit shocked at first, but then covers it up with a smirk.

"I'm here to train. Not to listen to your useless comments about my faction." I glance down at his clothes- Candor. He wears a tight black shirt and white pants, showing all the muscles that protrude from his body. I lower the sword from his throat.

"Then why don't we spar, honey? If you think you're so ready." he brushes past me and grabs his own sword off the rack, then dresses in a protective white body suit. Why is this guy already so damn annoying? I glance around the Training Hall. No one else seems to be having problems with an overly agitating trainer. I follow in his steps, putting on the body suit and walking over to a long and wide mat. He stands about two and a half yards away from me. I take a fighting stance, keeping my sword extended. He takes no time in having the first move.

He steps toward me, smoothly swinging his sword at my arm. I deflect it, advancing towards him with my own. I don't aim for any particular spot, but I swing my sword at him in swift and easy motions. I never get the blade to touch him, as he hits back at every move I make, but I'm not really aiming to do that. Really, this is me getting warmed up. I finally take a jab at his stomach, which he takes as the chance to grab hold of my wrist, twisting so I drop the sword, and somehow he manages to get behind me, bringing the blade to my neck with my arm still clenched in his hand. I breathe a little heavily because I'm nervous, and he leans his head closer to my face, his hot breaths bouncing off of my cheek.

"That was terrible. You're quick, but swords aren't for you, dear." he whispers in my ear, a mischievous grin in his voice. I look up to find Cameron across the room staring disapprovingly at me. He knows I'm better than this. And I'll show it. I refuse to cower just because a sharp object is pressed against me.

With my free arm, I elbow my trainer hard in the stomach, causing him to stumble backwards. My wrist falls out of his grasp, and I turn around and shove my foot so forcefully at his chest that he falls onto his back. By this time, his sword has fallen away from him and I take the free chance to pick up my own off the ground as he attempts to prop himself up on his elbows. Before he can do much more, the tip of my sword is pointed directly at his nose, and all he does is stare daggers up at me.

"I'm here for one reason, to train. I've already said that. Maybe you should take the time to consider that I've never used a damn sword in my fourteen years, and now you, a master of sword fighting, are on the putrid ground with one threatening to end your life." I say in a low, intimidating growl down at him, sending one of my best death glares. I walk away from him, pulling off the body suit and throwing the sword at his feet. "Candor have always gotten on my nerves." I mutter before leaving the station entirely. I don't look anywhere but forward, but I know for a fact I have a few stares coming my way. I don't know exactly where I'm going, so I end up doing about four stations by the end of the day. I try out the axes first, and soon come to realize that I'm never going to be able to muster up enough strength in two days to swing one, let alone throw one. So the trainer there ended up teaching me with hatchets since they were smaller and lighter, and I may not be great at aiming from afar, but I've got a good arm when it comes to knocking a dummy's head off.

After that, I test out my abilities with spears. Turns out, I suck at throwing. I can't throw far, and I can't aim well. Which is odd, considering I'm pretty decent at pitching a baseball. Not better than Kelli, but I probably have way more skill than the next guy. But when it's up close, I'm able to stab someone directly through their body. Next, I went to the Climbing Station, which I'm naturally good at. Back home, I had several different jobs when it came to harvesting, many of which involved climbing in the orchards. I may not be the best climber, but Cameron and I are automatically more advanced in the action based on the district we come from. The trainer has me climb synthetic trees and nets. I attempt to climb a rope that dangles from the ceiling with no knots in it, but even with my strong and flexible body, I can't get more than a few feet off the ground. Finally, I go to the Plant Identification Station. The trainer has a few other tributes there, so he doesn't mind much when I join in.

He hands three objects to each of us, the same three objects to every person. The first object is a long green plant with several heart shaped leaves and small white flowers at the top. I begin to rip the leaves off and fit them into my mouth, along with the stem. The only things I leave behind are the white flowers and roots. Chewing and swallowing them, I look up at the trainer who has a grin and a raised brow.

"Garlic Mustard." I confirm, and slide the rest of the plant back over to him. He seems pleased, because the three other tributes I sit with simply examined the plant until they saw me eating it. I glance over the next object- a long green stem with purple flowers protruding from every side. I look over to see one of the tributes here about to taste it, so I immediately push the plant forward and blurt out, "Wisteria. All parts are toxic and cause nausea, vomiting, cramps, you name it." the trainer is once again pleased, and the tribute that was about to eat it slowly lowers the plant away from their mouth. I sigh in relief, and then look over the next object.

It has a long green stem with small green leaves and reddish-orange berries. I recognize them almost immediately as goji berries, and plop them in my mouth. They're to die for in the Capitol, I hear, because of all the protein, vitamin C, iron, and beta-carotene they contain. Plus, they simply taste delicious.

Dinner tonight is quiet. I refrain from adding flower petals to my dessert again, but Ralenia is overly eager to.

"It just makes it taste all the more better! I can't believe no one from the Summit ever came up with this. It's marvelous!" she exclaims, and then scoops up some of the soft, frozen yogurt smothered in hibiscus petals. Blake just smiled and nodded as if he was paying attention, which he probably was to a Summit girl like Ralenia. Even though her skin was tinted yellow and I can't get over how outrageous her hairstyle was, I can definitely tell she's naturally beautiful. Blake seems to notice that too, and man did he keep track of it.

I hadn't seen her do it, but Belinda has hibiscus petals on her yogurt as well. She politely takes bites of her dessert now and then, but I'm sure I'm the only one that notices that she's actually eating.

I didn't eat much of my own food, I just kind of pushed it around my plate during the meal. I'm hungry, but I'm not in the mood to eat with strangers. I'll order something later tonight when everyone else is asleep. For now, though, I'll just make it look like I'm doing something.

When the meal is finally over, I'm the first to leave. I make my way back to my room and stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. This is the face that Kelli and my mother will see going insane as blood splatters over it.

I turn away from the mirror quickly, shaking my head at that thought. I jump in the shower and sit inside, letting the steaming hot water roll down my skin. I continue to rub my forehead, attempting to keep a head ache from emerging.

By the time I'm finished, my body is once again as fresh and new as it was yesterday when my cosmetologists had worked on me from head to toe. I pull on a silk robe, running my fingers through my wavy, dark brown hair. My mouth starts to salivate as soon as I stare down at the touch screen panel on the glass table in my bedroom, and I order a basic sandwich and a glass of apple cider. When it comes, they couldn't have made it any more fancier. I guess that's all you can get from the Summit- fancy.

I'm halfway through my food and drink when I feel another presence in the room. I swing my head around to see Blake leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

"What do you want? It's late. Go to bed." I frown and put my sandwich down, taking a few sips of cider.

"I could say the same for you." he replies and sits on the edge of my bed. "I heard you did well today in training." he comments, making my eyes widen a bit. I place the tall glass of cider back on the table.

"I guess you could say that." I mumble as nonchalantly as I can, leaning my back up against the bed as I sit on the floor. I prop my elbows up on my knees.

"Renee, I heard you beat a trainer on your first try. Sent him to the floor." he states. I can't tell if I'm in trouble or if he's congratulating me.

"So?" I ask.

"Have you ever thought that maybe you should try hand to hand combat?" he asks. I turn my head and look up to find him staring at me with an eyebrow raised.

"When does hand to hand combat get you anywhere in the Games?" I ask him, scowling. Most of the guys here were taller and stronger than me, and the girls all had that devilish grin on their pretty little faces. I knew I could take them all on, probably a lot of them too if I had my bat. But beating someone to death with only my fists? I don't know if I could do it.

"You could knock someone unconscious, or worse, with a hard punch to the temple you can kill a person. It has been done before, Renee. I just thought it was something you should think about. Based on the reports I've gotten today about your training, it seems to be your strong point." with that, he stands up and walks out of my bedroom, closing the door behind him. I glare at my bare feet, thinking over his words.

Hand to hand combat? I don't know, I guess I could be good at it. I've gotten in fights back home before, and I'm quick and strong. The only thing that gets to me is that tomorrow will be the last day for physical training.

You see, the real last day of training is mental because if you do manage to become Divergent and enter stage two of the Games, none of it is real. It's all a simulation. They want to test how well we can fight in our own heads. Of course, if you die in a simulation you die in real life, too. It's like a dream in a way, only you never wake up unless you win.

I finish my food and the glass table pulls it down, vanishing to who knows where. I stand up and get in bed, staring at the ceiling for over an hour before I'm actually able to fall asleep.

**End**

**Chapter Four**

**The Divergent Games**


	5. V: Hand to Hand Combat

Fall is when we harvest most of our crops. Apples, asparagus, cabbage, cantaloupe, carrots, bell peppers- I could go on forever. I was always one for going up in the orchards to harvest such things like oranges, cherries, pears, lemons, or limes. Kelli liked to stay on the ground when we were put to work in the fields. Somehow, however, we always found a way to be together.

At least until a painful day when I was accused of stealing a bushel of corn.

Kelli knew I hadn't done it. It was sometime in July or August a few years back, before Tyson had been born. A man in the fields wrongfully told the Officials that I had made off with my own basket- and this man was also once a stalker of my mother. When my mother had told him to get lost and planted hard sucker punch in his jaw, he took out his anger on me. My mother and I are pretty similar in strength, but from her days as a gang member, she's had more experience than I have.

So as my punishment, I was immediately ripped from my home and sentenced to be whipped in front of the entire district. I received twenty lashes- and the scars on my back prove it. My mother was put in jail for two months and I was forced to live with Kelli at the time. I'm lucky I wasn't shot then and there for what I had been accused of. If my mother and I were poor and not of higher middle class, I would have been, and she would have been the one to receive the whippings- only fifty of them.

I don't know why exactly this memory fills my head on this morning, but it seems to get me up. Blake knocks on the door and shouts for me to wake up, so I eagerly do. Anything to keep my mind off my past. But something else pangs against my skull. When I was being cleansed and dressed for the Opening Ceremonies two days ago, my cosmetologists nor my blunt and forthright stylist commented on those nasty marks on my back. Why?

I make my way over to the bathroom and give my hair a quick brush before washing my face and brushing my teeth. I tie my hair back in a simple big and messy bun, then stare at myself in the mirror. I have a long nose with a slight bump in the bone and a rounded tip, and my lips are full and pink. Brows and lashes are thick and dark, my cheek bones undefined and my bright blue eyes having their own natural glow. I stick some studs into the six piercings I have in each ear and a ring in my nostril before walking out of the bathroom, only to find the expected apparel for training. Dauntless wear tight black shirts with short sleeves and long black pants that you would tuck into the brown boots everyone had to wear. I pull on my outfit and leave the room, heading out for breakfast.

To my surprise, four more have joined us in the dining room this morning. I immediately recognize them as Cameron's style crew- three men from Amity and another from Candor. They seem to be exactly alike my group, only in male form. The four turn to see me entering the hall, looks of disgust mixed with curiosity beginning to paint across their made-up faces. I stop in my tracks and send them all a death glare and a scowl.

"What? Was I not invited?" I spit out, the corner of my lip going up in distaste. The Candor man crosses his arms and leans on one leg, a single eyebrow raised as he scans my body.

"Are you sure you're the District 11 Dauntless female?" he questions, which sends a look of amusement across the other three men's features.

"Are you sure you're the male stylist from Candor?" I ask back, mimicking him by crossing my own arms over my own chest and tapping my foot impatiently. "Because with that attitude you could be an Erudite female undercover." I stomp towards the table, making sure my shoulder made hard contact with his when I brushed past. I heard a few sounds of resentment from the Candor man, but noises of acknowledgement from the Amity men. I sit down next to Blake, who's already working on his food.

"Normally I argue peace with disagreements between the people," he whispers, then pushing a forkful of eggs between his lips. He chews and swallows before speaking again. "But I would take your side in that one." he nudges me with his elbow before continuing to eat his food, which is soon laid out in front of me from an Avox. Eggs sunny side up with thin slices of ham underneath, and strips of pigs' meat laid out next to them. Toast comes on another plate, as well as a goblet of water and a small glass of milk.

Cameron quickly enters the room after I've began at my food, sitting across from me, receiving a slightly larger portion than myself. The stylists and cosmetologists all sit at the end of the table, making small talk as they eat. My crew from Amity seems much less focused on Blake this morning, and more on the men that sit across from them. Well, they're just some love sick beings, aren't they?

Blake, Cameron, and I barely talk throughout the meal, rarely even looking at each other as well. Blake rambles on about a few survival tips for the Games and how to handle ourselves during training, but Cameron and I don't pay much attention. After we were finished, we waited a few minutes before finally being escorted to the elevator. Cameron and I got in, not speaking to each other until we were nearing the end of the ride.

"Well you're just a big show off, aren't you?" Cameron asks, his arms crossed as he glowers at the elevator doors in front of him.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I spit out, turning my head to send a glare at him. Without realizing it, I find that we have the same posture and stance. I guess that's what comes from being Dauntless.

"I'm talking about yesterday during training; your whole fight with the trainer at the Swords Station. You may have had him fooled with your antics, but I wasn't. It was obvious that you were just begging for attention by letting him get a hold of your neck. I know a bluff when I see one." he goes on, and my ears pop. We're getting close to the Training Hall that's several levels beneath the ground level. "And why didn't you go for the clubs?"

I turn to him with a strange look. "First of all, I am _not_ a bluff. And second, what clubs?" I question seriously, and he opens his mouth to answer, but before he can, the doors of the elevator slide open and we're sent into the Training Hall. Most everyone is already there, and the last few arrive in the next couple of minutes. I get away from Cameron as fast as I can, and somehow, I end up standing next to a tall and muscular man from Candor. Thankfully, not my trainer from yesterday, but another tribute. He looks at me and then grins, his eyes wandering my body. His action makes me self-conscious, and I take a few steps away from him as I pretend to look at all the stations. What's he doing? Seeing which limb he wants to chop off first during the Games?

"You're that stunning girl from District 11," he states confidently, causing me to turn my head to him with parted lips and furrowed brows. My expression makes him laugh a bit, his grin growing wider. "My name is Nicanor Evans, I'm from District 2." he introduces himself with pride, as if I should be impressed or something. My eyes scan his features- dirty blonde hair, cropped short and spiked a bit at the front, blazing green-yellow eyes, a long and straight nose, dark brows and thin lips. Overall, as I look up at him, he's certainly attractive. He holds out his hand, staring deeply and intently into my bright blue eyes.

"Renee Belladonna." I reply bluntly, shaking his hand. I definitely feel a bit small compared to this guy- he's obviously trained in the art of murder way more than I have because he's from the Career districts. You're not supposed to train when you're not in the Games, but districts 1, 2 and 4 do it anyway, so by the time they offer up tributes, they've already got the lead chance at winning.

"Gorgeous name, if I do say so myself." he smiles wickedly at me, placing a hand on my shoulder which makes me cringe. I don't like it when people touch me. "I saw you training yesterday... You're pretty lethal, and some of my buddies have noticed that." he nods his head behind him, and I take a step back to see around him. About thirty yards away, two other tributes stand watching us. One is a male from Erudite, shorter than Nicanor, but just as burly. He has curly dark hair and a hardened expression. The other is a tall girl, even taller than me, with long scarlet hair tied over her shoulder in a sloppy braid. Looking a bit closer, I can see that she's Erudite as well- the only Erudite female. I turn back to look at Nicanor.

"So I'm guessing that you're letting me know that I'm a target now?" I ask, eyes wide with curiosity and a twinge of resentment. I cross my arms over my chest and tap my foot a bit.

"No," he laughs a bit, as if it was funny. "We want you in our alliance." he states, which makes me wince a bit. Why would Careers want someone from District 11 in their pack? Usually it only means bad reputation back home. He leans in close to my ear, his hot breaths beating against my neck, making shivers go up my spine and goose bumps appear along my skin. "Just think about it. The majority of us could get out alive. And you and I..." I can hear a sinister smile in his voice, which creeps me out just a bit but also causes my expression to soften. "We could see each other more often." he pulls away and his long, soft fingers brush some loose pieces of hair out of my face and behind my ear. I narrow my eyes, giving him a questioning look, but he just grins and walks off towards his allies. I turn away and blink a few times, feeling like I just exited a trance.

I glance around- no one was watching, but all of the tributes have dispersed and moved to stations. I shake my head and wiggle my arms a bit, then glancing up at the Gamemakers who stare at everyone from above. To my surprise, a lot of their stares are fixed on either me or the Careers. I look away and my eyes immediately fall upon what Cameron had been speaking of earlier.

Across the room I see an individual station filled with clubs, bats, and hammers. I begin walking towards it, but immediately stop myself. Should I really exploit my strengths? No, I need to work on my weaknesses. I turn away from that station, hoping that no one saw me looking at it. Somehow I end up at the Throwing Knives Station, along with a few other tributes. The trainer sends me a glance of acknowledgement, but continues working with the others, so I take a few knives in my hands and begin practicing. I'm able to hit some of the targets, but it's extremely difficult, and my aim is poor. I experienced yesterday at the Spears Station that I'm terrible at long distance aiming. But I'm even worse with knives- I can't seem to get that desired spin on them that causes accuracy.

After about an hour, I finally give up and place my hands on my hips. I watch the other tributes go at it as I catch the little breath that had escaped while practicing, and my vision connects with the Hand to Hand Combat Station. My mind wanders, and within moments, I'm standing in front of the station wide eyed. Shockingly, I'm the only tribute there. I whirl around when someone taps me on the shoulder- a young man dressed in Dauntless clothing- my trainer for this station.

"I thought I might see you here." he says in a low voice, brushing past me and pulling on a pair of fingerless gloves. "I saw you yesterday at the Swords Station. No one came to this place, so I was simply watching the other tributes." he shrugs and walks to the mat. I shake my head, clearing my mind, and roll my neck a few times before I pull on a pair of gloves as well and take a fighting stance on the mat across from my trainer. He's professionally trained in this art- I'm not. Well, this will end well, won't it? "You may have the first move, Renee Belladonna."

I take in a deep breath through my mouth, and then have a personal moment to scan his body. His fists are up in the air, blocking his chin. He's ready for a facial attack. His arms and elbows shield his neck and chest- he knows it would be a stupid move to go for his stomach. His legs are planted firmly on the ground, so firmly that he wouldn't be able to jump up, but he wouldn't be able to withstand a confrontation, either. I look back up at his eyes, and then down at his stomach just to fool him. He prepares himself, and in that split second I have, I fall backwards onto my hands and swing my feet swiftly at his ankles. To my surprise and delight, I've caught him off guard. He falls backwards, but with such grace that he lands on his palms and flips back into a standing position.

I lunge forward at him and go in to knock one straight at his jaw, but he brings up his arm too fast and blocks it. He uses his free hand to drive a fist right into my abdomen, which makes me wince, but I clear it away as fast as I can. As soon as I open my eyes, I'm greeted by a punch in the neck, which causes me to stumble backwards. My vision seems to be blacken around the edges, but I stand my ground. He advances towards me, and I block his next hit- a jab at the eye- but weakly. I'm breaking down and he knows it. No, I refuse to go down like this. To go down like I have no dignity.

He uses his right hand to try and have another hard one at my neck, but I jut backwards so that it's a lesser hit at my collar bone. I ignore it, however, and grab hold of his shoulders with a tight as hell grip, despite my current condition. The moment after I do this, before he can even react, I shove my knee into his stomach. While he's responding to the pain, I grasp his shoulders tighter and wrench him so hard that I'm able to throw him to the ground. Without knowing it, a drop of blood drips onto his throat. My mouth is bleeding.

I pin him to the ground and slam my head against his, trying my best not to notice the way it makes my vision even darker. I don't know why I do the next thing I do, but I glance up for a moment, and my eyes meet those of the Gamemakers. Their vision is locked with mine, but I've gotten distracted. My trainer has revived his bearings, and now he uses his strength to roll over so that he's on top of me. Before I know it, he's landed another fist right in my cheek, and then everything goes black.

"So you weren't bluffing after all." a low and masculine hovers over me, and I have to blink and roll my eyes a few times to gain sight back to its fullest potential. I take in a few deep breaths before my wide and wandering eyes fall upon Cameron who looks down at me.

I glance around- I'm still in the Training Hall, a few trainers hanging around me. There's the man from the Plant Identification Station, the trainer I had been fighting with, and a few more I do not recognize. I rub my forehead- no, bad idea. That hurts like hell.

I slowly sit up, holding myself into a sitting position with my hands planted hard on the ground behind me. Waiting for the dizziness to clear, I look around to see the tributes finishing up at the stations, some of their stares shooting my way.

"You should take her back to your floor. Training is almost finished, anyway." one of the men says, nodding at Cameron. Cameron sighs and stands, pulling me to my feet. How long was I out? If training is almost over, it must have been a couple hours at least. Cameron and I keep an arm wrapped around each other to support my weight in my fuzzy-headed state, and he makes his way towards the large entry doors of the Training Hall. Before we leave, I glance back to see the hand to hand combat trainer shaking his head at me, as well as Nicanor sending me an odd look with his arms crossed and his chin up. I turn away, forcing myself to only focus on getting back to the eleventh floor of the Training Center.

**End**

**Chapter Five**

**The Divergent Games**


	6. VI: Personal Space

Last night I was given several pills. They told me that it was to make the bruises on my face disappear overnight, and that they were concerned about my health. I knew why they had actually given me the medication, though. It was so that I wouldn't look ugly for the camera two days from now when I would do my interview. Got to have the District 11 girl as beautiful as she was on the night of Opening Ceremonies!

I didn't sleep last night, either. Since we have mental training today, I spent the hours meditating and preparing myself as best as I could. When I stopped, I would stare in the mirror for an hour and watch the bruises on my cheeks and neck slowly fade. Then I would go back to concentrating.

Groggily, I stopped about an hour before we were supposed to really wake up and took a cold shower to energize myself for the day I couldn't avoid. I let the shampoos and conditioners smooth out my hair, since I don't have to break a sweat today. I lather myself from head to toe in expensive and pine smelling body soap, rinsing all my grief and tiredness away. When I step out, I press a button on the wall to dry myself quickly, and then tie my wet hair back as I cover myself in lotion, wash my face, and brush my teeth. I release my hair and it's automatically blown out and brushed for me, floating gently and smoothly in dark waves over my chest. I'm about to leave the bathroom when I glance in the mirror. My eyes... They need something. I press a few more buttons on the glass and a kit of makeup rises out of the sink counter top.

Years of being Dauntless stay with me as I feel the need to add some mascara and black eyeliner. Much better. I always loved the dark look I could get from makeup, and so do the other Dauntless. It only takes representing and honoring our faction a step further.

I enter my bedroom and pull on my own choice of clothes, since today we don't have to wear the expected training apparel. I pick out a simple black button down blouse, folding the collar down and rolling the long sleeves up to my elbows. I pull on a pair of dark jeans and tuck the bottom of my top into my pants. After lacing on a pair of combat boots, I make my way over to the small glass table by the large window. After pressing a few things on the panel and giving a voice command, I wait a minute before a steaming mug of mint tea rises out of nowhere. I take it in my hands, leaving my bedroom.

I glance around a few times to make sure no one else is up in the lounging area, and to my delight, they aren't. I sneak out, making utterly no sound as I leave our apartment and head down the hallway towards the elevator.

I don't know why, but I feel like if I stayed up in the lounging area, I would be bugged by my fellow District 11 tribute, or my mentor, or my stylist, or my cosmetologists. I ride the elevator down to the lobby floor, and quietly step out. As I make my way around the corner, I'm comforted by not seeing anyone. At least, until I look at all the couches and chairs in the center of the room.

Already dressed like myself, he sits there with his dirty blonde hair combed to perfection, his bright green-yellow eyes closed, but I can tell he isn't sleeping. I quickly turn away, hoping he didn't hear me, and begin stepping back towards the elevator.

"Renee Belladonna," Nicanor calls after me in a calm voice, a smile being heard in his tone. "Come, sit with me."

Closing my eyes and cursing silently, I turn back around and move around the corner, meeting his eyes instantly. He grins at me, his bright white teeth gleaming like Blake's. My lips part a bit, and I avoid his stare as I approach him. I sit on the other side of the couch, facing him and bringing my legs up to my chest as I slowly take a sip from my mug.

"Couldn't sleep?" he questions. I nod. I set it down on the table and swallow, finally meeting his eyes. "Have you been thinking about my offer?" he asks with a charming smile, making me stare elsewhere once again.

"A little bit. I'm still not completely sure, though. I've always enjoyed being on my own rather than with a group." I frown, and look at my boots that sit neatly on the white sofa. What I say is true- I would probably fair worse on my own unless the arena was an orchard or something, but my death would be quick. Entering an alliance with the Careers... I would have to fight at least two of them if I wanted to win, since there can only be two victors.

"We'll keep you alive. We'll hunt until there are only four of us left. You and I... I didn't want to tell the others this, but sometime during the Games, you and I could leave the alliance and fend for ourselves." I look up, because these words surprise me. My lips part even more, my blue eyes widening in shock. He just smiles at me. "You're a strong fighter, Renee. You and I are probably the best there is. We could make it back."

I begin to shake my head, but then he starts to slide closer to me. My legs droop down a bit as he crawls closer, soon hovering over me on the couch. I can't help the slightest bit of fear that shows in my eyes as I inch away, only to be blocked by the arm of the sofa. He moves in closer, and soon, his hand is on my own and his other on the top of the couch. His nose is only inches from mine, and he closes the space between us every second.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Renee. I'm here to take you to victory." he whispers, and I swallow as he presses even closer. I can't exactly get away without looking like a weak idiot, squirming about. He's on all fours on top of me, and all I want is to roll away and race back to the elevator. His top lip has just barely touched mine when the sound of another voice brings relief.

"Am I interrupting something?" I jolt to the sound of Blake's voice, who leans against the wall across the room, frowning. Nicanor quickly gets off of me and returns to his original spot on the couch, rubbing his cheek a bit and avoiding Blake's glare. Wait, Blake is glaring? Isn't that like, opposing Amity standards?

"Not at all." Nicanor blurts out as I slowly sit up and catch the breath that I didn't realize I was holding until now. "We were just, uh... Conversing about battle strategies." he furrows his brows and stares at the glass table in front of the sofa, desperate for the red that has emerged on his cheeks to disappear. I am too.

"Well, you'll have to do that another time. Renee needs to have breakfast. You'll probably want to get back to your room as well, District 2." Blake says in a calm but stern voice, crossing his arms over his chest. He sends me a look and I quickly get up, leaving the mug behind as I hurriedly make my way towards him. In a way, I'm glad to be away from the scene, but I wish it could have been someone else to catch us. Nicanor nods at Blake's comment and gets up, heading the opposite direction towards another elevator. I brush past Blake and turn around the corner, rushing down the hallway towards the elevator, hoping I don't have to ride the same one as Blake. Just my luck, he's right behind me as I enter and press the eleventh button. He stands by me as we ascend upwards, and I can feel his glower my way as I stare down at my shoes.

"What the hell was that about?" he finally questions, his voice low and relaxed, but with that certain firmness that makes me know that he wants a completely honest and serious answer.

"Nothing." is my genius response. I hang my head in shame. Why was Blake the one that had to intervene? And how did he know I would be in the lobby?

"That's bull, Renee. That looked nothing like a 'conversation about battle strategies'." he states, and it causes me to glance up at his flaring bright hazel eyes.

"How did you know where I was?" I ask, avoiding giving him a direct answer as much as possible. But at the same time, I definitely want to know how he was there, and in just the right time, too. He looks elsewhere, his expression softening. He silently swallows and then turns his eyes back to mine.

"I go to the Training Hall every morning to get a report on my tributes. I saw you two in the lobby on my way up." he gives me a hardened look, but I can tell he's hiding something.

"Did you follow me?" I ask, my brows furrowing in irritation. He _did_ follow me! He must have been awake when I left. Again, he stares elsewhere and then faces the elevator door instead of me. "What the hell makes you think you have the right to invade on my personal life, especially when my death is only days away?" I exclaim, my own eyes gleaming with anger.

He opens his mouth to answer, but then the elevator doors open up on our floor and we're immediately greeted by Dalia. She steps back, her features showing surprise and relief.

"We couldn't find you two! We were about to start looking everywhere!" she states, catching her breath dramatically and placing a hand on her chest as if her heart was racing.

"Who's your 'we'?" Blake asks calmly, looking behind her to see if anyone else is around. Not even my cosmetologists are there.

"Well, _I_ was about to start looking everywhere." she corrects herself, bringing on a silly smile that makes me scowl. Instead of sticking around, I push my way out of the elevator and walk quickly down the hallway, desperate to get away from them.

I try to contain myself, but it still seems like steam is coming out of my ears. I could feel my cheeks heating up as well. Blake seemed like a good guy- a good mentor, and then he decides to follow me? What if I didn't even go to the lobby and seen Nicanor- what if I had gone to the Training Hall or the roof or nowhere in particular, just wandered throughout the Training Center? Then what would he do? Just look like a stalker, I guess, no matter how handsome he might be. Wait- when in the hell did I start thinking of him as handsome? Yeah, he's good looking but way too old. At least, I think so. How old is he, anyway? I'm pretty sure he was fifteen when he won the Games three years ago. Never mind, it doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm angry with him for having even the slightest nerve, the slightest thought that he could follow me to god knows where.

Nicanor... How old is he? He's got to be at least a year older than me, but probably two like Cameron. Does he know I'm only fourteen? Screw it, he probably does and doesn't care. But what I saw in his eyes... It was lust, but something else as well. Like he was hiding something from me- and coming from a Candor like himself, that's not a good sign.

I'm not entirely sure how I got here, I guess I walked and automatically sat down as my mind was stuck on a trail of thoughts that buzzed through my head in repetitive sentences, but now I'm seated at the dining table in District 11's huge apartment, making sure I chose a chair away from everyone else. The whole time I sat upright with my hands in my lap, staring blankly at the collage of different breakfast foods before me. I definitely wasn't in the mood to eat after what just happened, but I know I need to ingest something. I silently drank a glass of milk just to make it look as if I was really there, I wasn't a lost being stuck in another world known as thoughts. But to be honest, that's how I really felt.

I had just nibbled on a piece of toast when Blake stood up from his seat and slammed his hands on the table firmly but not angrily to grab everyone's attention.

"Well, it's time for Cameron Janson and Renee Belladonna to take part in their last day of Training. Tomorrow night they'll have personal time with the Gamemakers to decide their scoring." he turns to Cameron who I sit across from, and for the first time, I realize he sits the same way as I do, and he has barely touched his food as well. His goblet of cider is empty, however. Blake bows a little and then places his hand over his heart. "I wish you both the best of luck. Bring back a decent reputation for 11." he smiles, first looking at Cameron who nods in acknowledgement, and then at me. All the others raise their glasses and do some odd formal thing where they clink them together and then take a long drink, but Blake just stares at me with a forced grin before finally sitting down and joining in with the others to drink.

And that only made me want to leave this place so much more.

**End**

**Chapter Six**

**The Divergent Games**


	7. VII: Radical Reactions

All twenty five tributes were lined against a long wall, staring straight ahead of them or glancing at the people around. I zone out of the long speech given by the same girl who spoke the first day of training, but I stare into her eyes to make it look like I'm paying attention.

The room is long with a low ceiling and a cold atmosphere. Practically everything in here is made of metal, including the tables we'll begin mental training on. All the while, I avoided looking at Nicanor who stood a few people down and kept sending me gazes as if trying to catch my eyes. I didn't want him to have them- not after what had happened. Instead, when I wasn't pretending to listen in on the woman speaking, I would look around the room.

About every ten feet there was a black hole up in the wall. It took me a few seconds to realize this after noticing the first one, but they're cameras, and I can't help but think the Gamemakers are watching me watch them back. I send them a glare before flinching to the sound of a loud clap.

The woman speaking in front of us all has her hands pressed together. "Alright, tributes. Time to get into position." she gives a closed mouth smile, her eyes wide, but it looks more demanding rather than reassuring. Looking around, all of the tributes take to the nearest metal table they can find. I look in front of me. I approach the table, but when I notice everyone is beginning to sit on them and lie on their backs, I cringe.

"They want to stab us with needles." an unfamiliar voice says, placing a gentle hand on my upper arm. I turn to see the short girl from District 4- my fellow female Dauntless tribute. Her voice is a bit higher pitched than I would have imagined, but she looks up at me with fearless eyes. "That's how we're going to train. The stuff in the syringes makes us fall asleep and enter some kind of dream world." she states clearly, walking up to the long metal table beside mine. She plops herself down and lays back, taking in a deep breath as the cold emanating from the table touches her tanned, District 4 skin. Her black hair flows around her, and I can tell just by the little twinge her hazel eyes show that she's a bit fearful as well. She furrows her thick brows at me, and I simply shake my head and roll my neck and shoulders a few times before hesitantly sitting on the metal table and lying on my back. I'm glad I wore long sleeves and pants, because the table definitely is chilly. I press my head back and for a moment, close my eyes, attempting to make all my stress and anxiety go away.

_It's just a stupid needle. I've taken shots before. I can do this_. Why am I so anxious? I don't know. I glance to my left- and there lies the Erudite redhead girl, already watching me back. Her hair is tied over her shoulder in another braid, but it suits her features. Icy green eyes, a fair complexion that's ridden of almost any acne, freckles, or beauty marks. She grins, but it looks more like a 'we're going to have fun with you, aren't we?' kind of grin more than a friendly one. I turn my head and look up at the ceiling, then back to the District 4 girl at my right. I don't even know her name. She wears a simple black T-shirt, one shoulder drooping off, showing the dark tank top she wears underneath. She has black jeans like myself and a pair of flats, which painfully remind me of the ones I wore on the day of the Reaping.

A man in pure white clothing moves to her table and places a pad on her neck before sticking the needle in one of her veins. I watch as she twitches slightly and squints her eyes closed as the man inserts a green liquid into her blood flow. He places the syringe on his cart along with several other empty ones, and wheels over to me. I can't help the slight shiver that runs down my spine as he places the square of moist cloth on my neck, the cleanser seeping into my skin. He grabs another syringe from his cart, and within a couple moments, the needle is deep inside my neck, feeling like an irritatingly large mosquito biting down hard on me. I swear I can feel the cold lime liquid entering my body as he pushes it in, and my eyes widen a bit. I cough once, and I can feel my pupils shrinking. My limbs twitch a bit, and my fingers tremble. It feels as if a rush of massive adrenaline is coursing through me, only my body is trying to fight back and prevent me from convulsing. I look up at the man who wears glasses with blue trim- an Erudite. He narrows his eyes at my reaction to the substance, but then straightens out and shakes his head.

"No, impossible…" he states almost confidently, if it weren't for the lump in his throat. I part my lips and furrow my brows at him, as does the District 4 girl.

"What the hell is going on?" I ask in a stern but low voice, attempting not to draw much attention from the other tributes or Officials in the room. My feet start to shake a bit wildly, which makes my heart skip a beat.

"Calm down, nothing is happening. Your body is just... Reacting differently." just as he says that, my spine seems to crack and my stomach lurches into the air, my whole body bending. I slam back on the table, shaking my head a bit and trying to regain composure. The man cringes and looks over me to see another Official working on the other side of the room, just finishing up on the redheaded girl beside me when he notices my constant twitching. The two exchange a worried glance, and the other Official walks around to my side, causing more and more people to notice. I cough a few more times before sitting upright without even telling myself to. I spit up blood- crimson blood with just the hint of green in it, and it splatters on the ground beside the table, some of it dotting the Official's shoes.

"Rhea!" the Official loudly and harshly calls out, and the woman who had been speaking to us earlier rushes over just in time to see me slam back into the table and clutch the sides to try and contain myself.

"What's wrong with her?" she asks, her eyes wandering my body, scanning each one of my attacks.

"Help." is the only word I'm able to sputter out, and I can tell I now have everyone's full and undivided attention- even the Gamemakers' who I know are watching me. One of the Officials rushes off to god knows where.

"Her body- her blood circulation, her nerves, her everything. It seems to be fighting back the serum. I- I don't know what to do. This hasn't happened before." he explains, and once again, my spine feels like it's snapping and my stomach rises in the air with a jolt. I fall back against the table, and the Official comes back with... What are those?

_Restraints._

All my life I've had a terrible fear of being restrained, unable to move, feeling like all my blood would build into clods and I would explode. That's why I was always overly cooperative when it came to medical examinations and such- because I was severely afraid they would pin me down and I would just... Burst.

There's not much I can do- I can't control my own limbs, but I continue to spit blood and shake radically as they tie down my stomach, ankles, thighs, wrists, upper arms, even my forehead. I know in the back of my mind that it's for the best to keep me stable, but I can feel everything about me growing wild and uncontrollable. I've tried to keep the screams in, but my spine snaps again and my stomach has nowhere to go. I cry out in pain, squinting my eyes shut and biting my lip back.

Just then, I feel a firm grip on my hand. "It's alright, it'll be fine. The simulation must go on- and the sooner you can will yourself to escape it, the sooner the pain and shaking will vanish. You can do this." the woman says, kneeling at my side. She turns her head up at one of the cameras. "Start the simulation _now_!" she shouts, both of her hands still clutched on mine. Without wanting to, I cough more. The blood splatters on our intertwined hands, and I have just enough time to see her look at me with even more worry than she had before. Then everything goes black.

He slices at me, and I back away just in time for the blade to be less than an inch from my throat. "You fight well, Renee. Shall we continue?" says the trainer, the one I had a sword fight with on the first day of Training. He doesn't seem as arrogant now. I glance around- we're in a large open field with tributes training everywhere. The District 4 girl is just a station away, flinging spears into dummies. The sky is a perfect blue with white puffs of clouds here and there. The sun beats down on us, but it's more refreshing than hot.

"Sure." is my first response, but just as he's backing away on the mat we stand on, something hits me. _How long have I been fighting with him?_

A twinge of worry goes through his eyes before he straightens out and swallows. "Just a few minutes. Why?" he grins at me, slowly sheathing his sword.

"Why are you not being... You? Why are you being nice?" I question, taking a step back. It feels like something is panging against my skull, but I can't tell what it is. He studies me for a moment. "Wait, did you just read my mind?"

"Aren't I always nice?" he questions back, not answering me completely. Crossing his arms over his chest, he takes another step towards me. My response is a few stomps backwards, shaking my head at him.

"You're egotistical and full of yourself. You are not the trainer I had on the first day. Not at all." I turn away from him, dropping the sword I hold on the mat and placing my hands on my head. I squint my eyes shut. _Something_ is missing. Something...

When I open my eyes, the District 4 girl is already looking at me, stopped in mid throw. She drops her weapon and approaches. "What is it?" she asks, narrowing her eyes up at me and placing her hands on her hips. "Hey, chill out, we're not even in the Games yet. This is just training." she says clearly, and the word begins to pang even harder in my brain. _Training_.

"What kind of training are we doing?" I ask, taking my hands off my head, dropping my arms at my side. My fingers quiver in anticipation of her answer. She just shakes her head as if the feeling is overcoming her as well.

"Just training... For the Divergent Games. Are you okay? You look like you're about to have a mental break down." my eyes widen at her words. I swing my arms up and firmly grip her shoulders, breathing heavily. "Get off of me!" she yelps, squirming, but I don't let go.

"How did we get here?" I say in a severe tone, loud enough for her to know that I'm being strict and serious, but low enough so the other tributes won't hear. I shake her a bit, and she glares up at me. "We're..." I stutter, as the words seem to form together. "We're in mental training. We... We have to wake up. Wake up!" I scream at her, and the field is so open and wide that I do, in fact, get just a couple tributes' attention, but not many. They look at us confusedly, as does the girl before me.

"What the hell are you talking about? I'm... I'm not asleep. I'm awake." she says it with such confidence that I almost believe her, but in her eyes I can see that she's mostly trying to reassure herself. "Get off of me." She frees herself and steps backwards. She presses a few fingers against her forehead.

"How did we get here? What's the last thing you remember?" I question, pressing forward. The clouds above seem to get just a bit darker. I hold my hands out in front of me. "Sword." I say. Nothing happens, but something seems to flicker up in the sky. Lightning? No, it wasn't lightning. I would have heard thunder follow afterwards. It seemed as if someone was taking a picture from above. "Sword!" I shout, and something starts to materialize in my hands, but it's faded and foggy, blinking as if it's trying to fight back from becoming clear. "This world is fake! _Sword!_" Finally, the blade forms in my hands. The District 4 girl stands before me, her jaw dropped in awe.

"We... What did you just do? Magic? That's impossible! A sword doesn't just..." she stutters, her words becoming muffled by her own self. She shakes her head, her brows pressing together.

"It's not possible in the real world, but here, in mental training, it is. We have to wake up, Erela." I shock myself. How did I know her name? I look from her eyes to the sword in front of me. I blink a few times. Did I just call her a random name because it sounded correct, or is that name real? What's different about a simulation and the real world that I can tell a person's name without even having to ask?

"Okay." her response surprises me, because she must be thinking the same thing I am. If I can make a sword appear in my hands and know her name all within a minute, it has _got_ to be fake. I look down at her, and drop the sword on the ground. "But how?"

"This is not real." I begin to say, clearing my throat and grabbing her by the shoulders once more. She stares at me for a moment before returning the gesture. "This place is just a simulation. This is not real. Wake up. _Wake up!_" we chant together, looking up at the sky that now pounds and rumbles overhead. Lightning crackles nearby, and rain begins to fall. I don't know if I'm the only one dreaming the rain, but none of the other tributes seem to notice but Erela and I. And with that, I hear crumbling, and the ground beneath us falls to a dark abyss, bringing us with it.

I bolt upright with such force that the restraints snaps off my forehead, upper arms and stomach. I breathe heavily, the feeling of plummeting still rushing through me. As I attempt to catch my breath, I look over at the District 4 girl beside me. She watches back, in the same position I'm in. Looking up, there's a large screen against one of the walls that both of the Officials and the woman from earlier watch. The screen shows... It shows the open field, the sky clear and the clouds white with tributes scattered around testing their abilities. Slowly, they turn to see Erela and me already watching them.

"Thr- Three," the woman stutters, swallowing the lump in her throat and staring wide eyed at the two of us. "Three minutes and two seconds. That's... That's a new record."

**End**

**Chapter Seven**

**The Divergent Games**


	8. VIII: Heated Presence

Blake seemed to be staring a hole through my head, right in between my brows.

He hadn't taken his eyes off of me this morning, _ever_. He didn't even eat any of the food that was set for him. He simply sat there across from me with his elbows on the table, his mouth and nose covered by his intertwined hands. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. I had been managing to avoid his eyes the whole time I drank the cider from my goblet, but now it was just plain irritating. I lift my head up, sending him my famous death glare.

"What?" I snap, practically silencing everyone else's conversations at the dining table and drawing their attention towards the two of us. He swallows and glances around, as if embarrassed that I caught him looking at me. He knew that I was uneasy, however. He knew that I had felt his eyes on me, and I simply couldn't stand it any longer. Finally, he meets my gaze again, and holds it.

"I got a report late last night about mental training." he said, as if that explained it all. My eyes widen slightly, and I lean back in my chair, realizing I was hunched over like an animal. I cross my arms over my chest and try to hide how nervous I am about what he'll say next.

"And?" I bite out, fixing him with a dangerous look. He shook his head and mimicked me, pressing his back to his chair and folding his arms. I scowl, raising a brow in disgust and annoyance.

"Three minutes and two seconds." he states clearly, and just about everyone at the table gasps, all with the exception of Cameron. He just sat there, bent over his food and sipping from a bowl of soup as if this had happened a million times before. But of course, it hadn't. Cameron just knew what time I had gotten yesterday because of the screen in the middle of the room, showing every time from quickest to slowest. And, so be my luck, I was first on that screen, causing myself to have even more attention than intended. What was so wrong with my body that it couldn't take a simple needle?

I shake my head and pinch the bridge of my nose, squinting my eyes shut. "It's not that big of a deal. You all are freaking out over a stupid time." I mumble, but loud enough so they all can hear me. They all exchange worried and confused glances, as if I wasn't getting the point at all.

"It wasn't just your time." Blake clears his throat. "It was that you were able to get someone else out as well. But not only that... You were able to make a sword. Out of nothing, like all of it was a dream." he bends over the table, as if to get a better look at me.

"Well that's how it felt." I mutter, grimacing. "If it was a simulation, then that world is fake, like a dream. So that's how I imagined it." I explained it exactly like it was, how I actually felt. It seemed like a simple thing to me, but Cameron's team of cosmetologists and his stylist were nervously scratching the back of their necks, while Ralenia, Belinda, Aumora, and Dalia were all trying to hide their overly dramatic exasperation.

Blake shakes his head. "This is not an appropriate conversation for the dining table. And to add to that, I believe it's time the tributes head down to the lobby for private training." he wipes his mouth with a napkin, even though there was no food or drink there to begin with. He stands from the table and turns, heading off in the direction of his bedroom. As soon as he's gone, I exchange a look with Cameron. I didn't show any facial expression other than a 'what the hell was that about' stare, but it still felt like more than that. Maybe I'm imagining things, I don't know.

Already dressed in our required training apparel, I wait in the living room with Cameron. His and my style team returned to their own apartments, so we were left alone. I began counting the seconds it took for Blake to show up, which were going up ever so slowly.

I don't understand. The simulation was like a dream, or at least, it felt like one. It didn't feel real. Every action I made- it felt entirely in my head. Like grabbing Erela's shoulders- it was more of a mental connection rather than a physical one. Like I had just thought that it had happened, and it did. And the whole deal with the sword... If you have enough brain power, you can easily manipulate the setting of a dream to your advantage- so that's what I did.

But there was something else I remember from the simulation.

Halfway through, I had caught a glimpse of something flashing in the sky. It could have been lightning, but it seemed too narrowed, like a camera taking our picture. Could that have been the Gamemakers recording us in more than one way, or was it really just a part of the storm? But I didn't hear any thunder. So that means... That means it _had_ to be the flash of a camera- there's no other explanation. At least, there's no other explanation I can think of.

I think I've been really maxing out my brain in questions lately.

Finally, my head turned upwards to the sound of a door knob clicking open. Blake exited his quarters, dressed in a sleek red suit and tie, his sandy hair combed and his teeth brushed clean, which were bared when he gave us a grin that seemed unusually forced. His eyes darted from me to Cameron repeatedly, and they seemed icy instead of welcoming. Not a good sign.

"You two will be one of the last tributes to go into private training today. As custom, we select tributes one by one in alphabetical order of their factions. Abnegation, Amity, Candor, Dauntless, and lastly, Erudite. Then they go by districts, lowest numbers to highest." Blake explains as he gestures for us to stand, and reluctantly, we do. Cameron and I simultaneously cross our arms over our chests, and Blake raises a brow at the action, but shrugs it off after a moment. He should be used to this by now.

"I'm ready." I say blankly, not taking my focused vision from Blake's squinted eyes. He parted his lips as if to say something, but was interrupted by Cameron.

"I am too. Bet I can get a higher score than you." he says, punching my arm as he walks towards the door. "To our deaths, we advance." he says with an odd bit of confidence and sarcasm as he leaves the room. My brow goes up in confusion. When has Cameron ever teased me in a nice way? When has he ever made a sarcastic joke around me?

"The hell?" I mutter as he leaves, but my head cocks to the side as I feel a firm grip on my upper arm. I see Blake staring at me with wide, serious eyes, much closer than he has ever been before. Our shoes are only about two inches apart from each other, and I try not to make my anxiety show so much.

"Renee, you can't mess this up. If you can manage a high score, you'll get sponsors, lots of them. Not to mention allies and a longer life span." His other hand is on my opposite arm now, and he's even closer. I swallow, my lips parting a bit and my brows twitching slightly up at him. "Please Renee. I can't bear to see you die. And I'm sorry for earlier, it was uncalled for." he pulls me into a hug, my fists pressed up against his chest and his muscular arms wrapped tightly around my back. I've never been held before by anyone with the exception of my mother. But even then it was just quick hugs and sometimes meaningful ones, but they were never like this. I can feel the passion, frustration, and determination to keep me alive burning through his veins. His heart pounds half a beat faster than it's supposed to, and mine even quicker than that. The only thing is, I kind of like it.

I like the way his presence wraps me in complete warmth. Maybe all Amity have that affect, but with him, it _has_ to be different. It's unique. He just feels right, being here with me, and I don't know how I know, but I do. I've never thought about Blake like this until now, and maybe it's just a one moment feeling. But even so, I don't necessarily want it to end.

He pulled away, his nose only inches from mine. "Don't die on me, Renee. If I was Dauntless like you, I would tell you that if you die, I'll kill you." those words sent a half grin on his face, his features softening to that open expression that he usually has. One of his hands comes up from my back and to my jaw, his thumb smoothing over my cheek.

I have never kissed anyone in my life, but I didn't care if I was inexperienced or not. Right now, right at this moment, all I wanted was for him to press his lips up against mine. Normally I would never think about boys in this way, mainly because I had closed myself off to anyone else except for Kelli, my mother, and my baby brother Tyson.

"Would all twenty five tributes please report to the lobby for private training. That is all, thank you." the automated message comes in through the walls of the room, almost instantly separating me from Blake. My mind seems back in check now. I shake my head and roll my shoulders a few times before daring to look him in the eye.

"Renee," he starts, but I don't want to hear any of it. He's throwing me off balance with all these mixed emotions. I need to stay focused if I want to do anything productive today in private training.

"I need to go, Blake. You heard the call." I said, now staring at the ground and motioning at the small black holes up high in all the walls. Cameras and intercoms. I have no idea what might happen to Blake or me if that scene had gone any further. They're probably watching us right now, which is exactly why I need to get out. I push past him and head towards the door, making my footsteps quick but silent.

What the hell was that? It's like one hug has sent my whole way of thinking and feeling into complete chaos. I hurry out of the apartment and down the hall, feeling Blake's eyes on me from behind.

I wish I had never met Blake. He's brought out a whole other side of me that I do not want to have shown. I'm better on my own. _I'm better on my own_. I don't need anyone to depend on, all I need is myself.

I'm going to die and there's no stopping it.

**End**

**Chapter Eight**

**The Divergent Games**


	9. IX: Private Slave

"Renee Belladonna." the intercom called out in a female's voice. All the tributes sat in the lobby of the Training Center- well at least, everyone who was left. Abnegation, Amity, Candor, and most of Dauntless had already gone. Cameron and I sat next to each other on the sofa, avoiding eye contact with the five Erudite sitting across from us. But I stray away from the redhead mainly, because she seemed to be staring daggers the whole time we were down here. Normally I would intimidate her back, but I had the feeling she was angry at me for something. Maybe she felt she was downsized at mental training. Maybe she found out that Nicanor tried to make a move on me. Maybe she didn't like my eye color- I had no idea. But I'm _not_ going to make more enemies than I already have before the Games even begin.

I stood up. Cameron would go after me, the first letter of his last name coming after mine. Last names wouldn't matter if we weren't in the same district. As they looked at everyone when they went to their private session, all of the Erudite tributes' eyes followed me- I could feel it. They were always analyzing physical reactions, posture, and to me, it seemed like they were trying to read your mind, which made me most uncomfortable- the fact that my thoughts weren't entirely safe. But obviously no one had that ability, and I was just getting paranoid over nothing.

I entered the elevator, a guard already inside. As I turned around to face the door, he pushed the lowest button on the panel and then proceeded to fold his hands in front of him, standing still and quiet. He was stern and hard like a statue. I wondered if he liked doing this job, if he enjoyed being a slave of the Summit.

We came to the underground floor much sooner than I wished. When I didn't leave the elevator right away, the guard put his hand on my back in an effort to push me out. Before he could, my instincts took over. I don't like being touched by strangers, that was definite, but I didn't mean to do the thing I did.

I twisted around and grabbed his wrist with both hands, bending it back. He grunted in pain, but I stopped myself before I could swing his arm behind his back and break it. My eyes widened and I let go, jogging backwards for a moment before turning forwards and running to the doors of the Training Hall. I was too on edge today. Too wired. What was in my cider this morning?

I tried to walk in the room as leisurely and nonchalantly as possible, not wanting to set any suspicions of the Gamemakers. But of course they already had their eyes on me because of mental training. They all sat quietly, facing forward and watching me intently. A few were whispering to one another, but I almost praised them. I didn't want to be inspected this closely.

I held my arms at my sides, clenching and freeing my fists. I breathed in and out through my mouth, staring back at the several older men and some women who sat politely but sternly. "My name is Renee Belladonna, age fourteen, Dauntless, District 11." I called out, but of course they already knew my name. Introduction was simply a formal requirement. I stood there for a moment before shaking the many jumbled thoughts out of my mind and glancing around the room at the various weapons and dummies for sparring. Swords, bows, spears, clubs, knives, slingshots, whips. Everything seemed almost unrealistic, how there was so many things here that I didn't even know existed. So many torture weapons.

I shook my head again and walked over to the swords. They must have been expecting this of me, but I thought nothing of it. I grabbed and put back different swords until I had one that felt well balanced and weighted in my hand. I then made my way over to the rubber, plastic, and foam synthetic people, and, standing about a foot or two away from one, extended my arm to its neck, the sword tip pressing against where an Adams apple would be. I could _not_ fail. I could not let weakness show in a time to display strength, _personal_ strength.

With one swift move, I swung the sword up in the air as I took a step back, and then sliced it across both knees. _Buckled, on the ground, struggling to stand_.

Sword up higher, but not too high. With a downward movement, I cut through the right arm of the dummy at the elbow. _Weapon arm, gone. Going to bleed out if left alone_. But I wouldn't let them suffer. I'm not _that _cruel.

Sword up even higher. Twirl around and swing- blade penetrating where the jugular vein of the neck would be. _Sliced through. Beheaded. Dead_.

Every move seemed automatic. Every move seemed planned out, or orchestrated, as if someone was controlling me like a puppet. Maybe that's just the way I fought, and I hadn't realized it yet. Maybe I had unlocked a new, even more emotionless side of me to use for fighting.

I glanced back up at the Gamemakers, and some nodded, and most others look unimpressed. Of course they did. They'd seen tricks like this and better many times before. It's time for something else.

I left the decapitated dummy and placed my sword back on the rack. For a second, I stood still, almost glaring at the blades before me. No more swords, I would have to try something else. I turned away and walked over to the Knife Station. Most of them were throwing knives, but there were a few daggers made of different materials. I skimmed my hand over the smooth sides, stroking my fingers across the sharp edges at times. Finally, I came to one that was long, smooth with silver, showing my reflection. I ignored it. I had become paler with stress and my eyes sunk in a little the past few days. The handle was black leather, and it felt heavy in my hand, but comfortable. I picked it up and turned back towards the Gamemakers. I held it up for them to see, to see that I was going to try one more time for them to give me a higher ranking.

I walked back to the dummies, but on my way there, I realized something. I didn't want a higher ranking. I didn't want to be involved in this at all. I didn't care what anyone thought of me, especially the Gamemakers, or that redhead, or Nicanor, or even Cameron or Blake. I wasn't their dog to do tricks for bones. I wasn't theirs to manipulate. I showed that in mental training, and I'm going to show it again.

My eyes met with that of the Gamemakers, and they narrowed, turning into a grimace, a scowl, everything to show them my irritation with the way they tried to control teenagers and then kill them for their own enjoyment.

"My name is Renee Belladonna." I said in a low voice, just barely audible. I wondered if they even heard me, but I didn't care. I said it for my own sanity. I love you mother. I love you Kelli. I love you Tyson. "And I am not your slave." and with that, some of the Gamemakers saw my next move coming, because their eyes widened and their jaws dropped as I took the dagger in both hands and drove it into my stomach, immediately feeling the blood trickle out, my vision going black with the searing and throbbing pain.

_I love you mother. I love you Kelli. I love you Tyson._

**End**

**Chapter Nine**

**The Divergent Games**


End file.
